


The Long Way Back

by Vermillion_Angel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermillion_Angel/pseuds/Vermillion_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of Inquisition.<br/>Fenris receives a letter he fears will contain bad news only to find that his lover is coming back to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Smut coming later ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Way Back

Long way Back – Chapter one: Welcome News

 

Fenris froze when the letter was placed in his hands. It was damp and grimy, heavy with the miles it had traveled and the weight of the information it held. He turned it over and frowned at the address scrawled across the envelope,  
‘Is it in Garthes’ hand?’  
‘Perhaps.’ but the rigors of the road had made the pen strokes hard to discern.  
He licked his lips, his dexterous fingers picked at the papers edge but he stopped himself.  
‘Better to wait until I’m alone. Just in case the news is . . .’  
He crinkled his nose, blinked his green eyes and refused to finish the thought.  
‘I will not bait the Maker with my fears.’  
Slipping the letter into his pack he tried to put it from his mind but it rested heavy on his shoulders as if it were made of lead not paper.  
Refocusing himself, he set out on his errands; paying off suppliers, sending messages, and gathering a few specialist items for Hawke and his allies.  
The time seemed to crawl and he rocked on his heels, tapping his fingers against the side of a stall as the vendor wrapped the small vials for which he had parted precious coin, too much coin, in these troubled times.  
Done, he spun away, his feet eating up the ground as he headed for the gate.  
Bringing his fingers to his lips he let out a shrill whistle then paced a stamping circle, glancing off down the street and hissing air between his teeth as the letter pressed harder against his spine with every second.  
The thud of heavy paws was like music as Volke rounded the corner, eyes bright and tail wagging. Streaks of drool and grease whetted his muzzle and neck in a clear indication that he had either made a friend or pilfered himself a meal. Fenris hoped is was the former, he would not spare a moment more in this town to investigate a crime he couldn’t confirm.  
Spinning away, he headed back towards the encampment, closing his mind to the rising clamor of fear as he whispered his mantra under his breath.  
“He will come back. He will keep his promise.”

*****

It was dark by the time Fenris reached his makeshift shack, the cramped space he had called his home these past dreary months.  
The door firmly bolted, he stalked to the table thudding his pack onto the aged wood as he scooped up the lamp with unsteady hands.  
“Kaffas” he swore as the flint failed him the first time, cursing the very fabric of the world for each cruel delay it laid upon his path.  
Another try and the spark took hold, guttering in the draft until he set the glass in place to preserve the flame.  
Taking a breath he delved into his pack for the letter, digging round the packages with slender fingers, experiencing a moment of panic as he feared that it had somehow been lost, that he could sit in this hut for many more months in ignorance of the painful truth.  
“He is not dead,” he muttered to the room, “If I have not read it, it is not so.”  
Paper slid against the back of his hand, pulling him from his musings as he hooked the envelope out into the light.  
Easing himself into a chair, Fenris ripped the corner, slipping a finger inside to tear apart the top edge. He pulled out the message and laid it on the table, smoothing it flat, chasing every wrinkle while his eyes darted away from the words like frightened animals.  
He rubbed his clammy hands across his face and closed his eyes for a second. Convinced of what he was about to read but daring to believe that his short new life was not yet over.  
Steeling himself, he began, stopping himself after the first line to rest his forehead against the table as relieved laughter bubbled from his lips and not-quite-tears stung in his eyes.

“My Love,” it commenced in Garthes’ elaborate hand, “I am coming home.”

*****

If the anxiety had been hard to deal with the restlessness was worse.  
Fenris hadn’t noticed how thoroughly the certainty of his future loneliness had settled upon him. A pall of numbing surrender that now lifted had left the elf in a state of jittery anticipation.  
The dawn had come at a crawl as he tossed beneath the sheets with imagined reunions playing through his mind in infinite detail and variety. Volke, he was certain, was quite disgusted with him, having quit the bed in the early hours in search of a more peaceful harbor for his great bulk.  
With the morning had come the duty of informing Hawke’s other friends and allies of his impending return. The camp was abuzz with the news. Garthe was well loved by these people; he had risked much to help them, and they had missed him in his absence.  
It was hard for Fenris to discern exactly when his lover would arrive. The letter had traveled quite a way to reach him and the journey was long. It was enough to know that he was coming home.  
Or it should have been . . .

Impatience didn’t sit well on the elven warrior, a fact that was not going unnoticed as he stalked about the camp, his demeanor becoming increasingly contrary to the otherwise jovial mood.

“You should meet him on the road.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he diverted his attention from the plate on his lap to the weathered apostate sitting off to his left.  
Anders looked exhausted, dirty and bloodstained, unkempt from his tireless work to help the refugees fleeing Sebastian's invasion. The guilt was taking it’s toll too, not that he had acted, but that his life’s breath was the fuel that fired the starkhaven Prince’s escalating revenge.  
It made Fenris sick that Sebastian claimed his righteousness while Anders skipped sleep to heal his victims. Not that he cared for the Apostate’s well being, more for the blatant hypocrisy on the part of the Prince, and that he had once made the mistake of calling him his friend.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” added Merill from her seat on the ground, “You must be getting so dizzy with all that walking round and round.”

“Not to mention he’s giving me a headache,” added Anders.

“Isn’t that the frowning though?” She replied earnestly, “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you smiled at him for a change.”

“Maybe,” Anders quirked an amused eyebrow, “But I’d probably have to set him on fire first.”

“Try it Mage and it will be the last thing you do,” Fenris rumbled back but there was no menace in the threat. The dislike between the pair had dimmed to a grudging acceptance over the past few years, especially in the face of Garthes’ persistent optimism that they could get along if they only tried.

“Well then,” Smiled Anders, “as I have patients that need me, and Garthe prefers his Elves served rare, maybe you should take my advice before my aching head spurs me to action.”

Fenris paused for a moment. The advice was sound yet he was loathe to acknowledge that fact in front of the Mage.

“I’ll think on it,” he said finally, carefully controlling his urge to sprint for his pack. Instead, he rose slowly from his chair and placed his half laden plate gingerly back on the table.

“Good,” Anders smiled, a surprising warmth lighting in his amber eyes, “Remember to pack twice as much as you’d usually need.”

Merill tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Oh no reason” the Mage said as he also rose to leave.  
“Isn’t Hawke going to be busy with all these people to welcome him back.” He added as an afterthought, “I think Fenris might have to learn to share.”  
With that, he walked away, returning to the ramshackle complex of tents that housed his growing army of patients.

Fenris mused over his words for a moment before filing the advice with the increasingly long list of acts for which the Mage would never receive his thanks.  
He would leave tonight, taking the direct route to the coast and the long way back, ensuring that for a short while at least, he would have his lover to himself.

******

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for reading!
> 
> this is my first foray into fanfiction so I would be super grateful if you left me some feedback. Thanks again.


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